


Excuse Me Sir This Is My Emotional Support Eldritch Being

by jowritesthings



Series: Emotional Support Eldritch AU [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: #GiveJonATherapyBunny2020, (albeit a bad one), (and maybe a bit of early s3 lore oop), (the bunny's actually an eldritch horror being but shhh don't tell him), Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Canon Universe, Comedy, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Eldritch, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Food, Gen, How Do I Tag, Humor, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Needs Therapy, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Needs a Bunny, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Needs a Hug, One Shot, Rabbits, Swearing, The Magnus Archives Season 2, Tim Stoker Being Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), but spoilers for the s2 finale, idk how to tag it specifically but basically it's canon !with tweaks!, idk if it technically is spoilers considering s2 was released like three years ago, lmfao that's an actual tag, these tags are a mess but im tired and will organize later lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26812816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jowritesthings/pseuds/jowritesthings
Summary: The archival team adopts a rabbit.*I own nothing. I am not in any way associated with The Magnus Archives or Rusty Quill. I merely wrote the plot and the story. Do not copy or repost to other websites or other places.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Series: Emotional Support Eldritch AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2067606
Comments: 10
Kudos: 85





	Excuse Me Sir This Is My Emotional Support Eldritch Being

**Author's Note:**

> If Jon can’t have therapy, at least give the man a bunny. (that's basically the same thing right??)
> 
> Behold. What very well may be the stupidest thing I have ever written. Ahem. Did I say stupidest? I meant most brilliant. Clearly I meant it’s the most brilliant thing I have ever written. Obviously.
> 
> This is my first (and possibly only?? idk we'll see) TMA fic! I only just began season three, like, yesterday, so we'll pretend that's why they might be ridiculously OOC lol. But do enjoy, loves.

“What is it?”

Jon levels a suspicious glare down at the fluffy blob comfortably stretched out in the middle of the overstuffed break room couch.

Tim blinks owlishly at him from behind his mug of tea. “A...rabbit?”

“Yes, but are you _sure_ it’s a rabbit?” Jon asks insistently. “Not a—a spirit, or...an animated doll, or a clown in disguise or something?”

Sighing, Tim sets his tea down on the counter. “Look, I get the whole ‘suspicious of us being murderers’ thing—no I don’t, actually, but that’s beside the point—it. is. a _rabbit_.” For a good measure, he walks over to sit on one side of the rabbit, reaching a hand out to the little guy’s fluffy head. If a rabbit could smile, he suspects this one would be doing so as it leans up into his hand.

“No fleas or ticks...or worms, so it’s not some Jane Prentiss _Pet Sematary_ crossover, I promise—” Tim rolls his eyes, “—the veterinarian confirmed as much when I brought the poor thing in. Out of the _mud_ and the _rain_ of the _gutter_ ,” he adds, not even attempting to hide the guilt-trip. He wishes Martin were here, with his ridiculously effective puppy-dog eyes.

Tim knows this is Jon he’s talking to, but surely even he can’t be _that_ cold-hearted. He rather thinks that Jon will enjoy not being alone anymore down here during all his late nights. If he’d let himself, surely Jon would enjoy having company in the form of a teeny tiny creature that can’t and won’t harm him—which, uh, certainly is not why he’s lying about his current flat not permitting pets, no siree.

“...Fine. Whatever.” Jon points an accusing finger at him. “But we’re not keeping it,” he stresses. “The moment you find it a different home, it goes. The _moment_.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Tim chirps, although as he begins a staring contest with the rabbit’s curious red eyes, he has no intention of actually doing as Jon says.

Martin chooses this moment to walk through the door. His eyes light up. “Aw, is that a rabbit?”

“No, this does _not_ mean you’re allowed to bring in more strays,” Jon snaps.

The light in Martin’s eyes fades. “Okay,” he says mournfully as he crouches to pet the rabbit, sulking.

* * *

“So what should we name him?” Tim asks Jon when the Head Archivist comes into the break room the next morning.

“ _Oh_ —my—” Jon startles where he stands by the counter, attempting to make himself some toast with the Archive’s horrible fifteen-year-old toaster—toast that now splatters across the floor. Somehow in his sleep-deprived stupor he must’ve missed Tim sitting on the couch with a white rabbit on his head. He never seems to really notice Tim, but at this point it’s fine enough; Tim has accepted that the guy has impossibly poor taste.

The rabbit clambers down from Tim’s shoulders, jumping off of the couch and padding over to investigate the new human(?) and the mess he made.

“How about Thumper?” Tim puzzles aloud, stretching leisurely and acting as if he doesn’t notice Jon frantically scrubbing up raspberry jam and trying to avoid the rabbit’s investigative snuffles all in one. “No, no...that’s too cliché.”

“I really don’t see the point in naming it when it shouldn’t be here more than a few weeks,” Jon comments, shooing the animal in question away before it can try to lick up any jam.

“Maybe Joe?” Tim continues loudly, as if he hadn’t heard the other. When the rabbit ambles back over to him, he scoops them up, pressing their noses together. “Ligma?” He shakes his head at the rabbit. “No, no. We need to have more _sophistication_ as we go about this.”

“You could do with applying that sophistication to your _work_ ,” comes the grumbled retort.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Jon abruptly turns to burn another piece of bread in the toaster.

* * *

“How about Marshmallow?”

“ _Wh_ _at_ on _Earth_ —” Jon shrieks, jumping in his desk chair, and a sheaf of papers is sent flying around the office.

“The rabbit. Should we call him ‘Marshmallow’?” Tim smiles as innocently as he can manage, standing out in the hall with his head peeping into his boss’ office. “Marshie for short?”

“I am in the _middle_ of a _statement_!” Jon sputters. “Get out!”

“Okay, okay....” Tim fluidly shrugs his shoulders. “What about ‘Bob’?”

“ _Out_!”

But Tim continues to pop into Jon’s office unannounced throughout the day, tossing out name suggestions. He even manages to rope Martin into doing it too, and notes with savage delight that between the two of them and his work, Jon doesn’t get much more than a moment to ~~wallow~~ rest for the remainder of the day.

Between the two of them Tim and Martin manage to compile a surprisingly long list of names:

  * Snowball,

  * Posy (Martin is partial to this one because he thinks it’s cute),

  * _Bun_ gen Leitner,

  * John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt (“is that too American of a reference for a fanfic taking place in the UK?” “ _what?_ ” “what?”),

  * the _Bun_ holding,

  * Michael (Jon is especially averse to that one for some reason),

  * Cottonball,

  * Fluffy Bastard (Tim’s own favorite),

  * Bugs Bunny,

  * Eldritch Horror (Tim tosses that one in as a joke; no way the rabbit that eats his own shit is some kind of otherworldly being),

  * Big _Bun_ gus (“it’s a play off Big Chungus!” “d’you seriously think anyone else here even _knows_ what memes are”), and

  * the Vampiric Count Sir Maximillianus-Who-Is-Also-A-Werebun




(Despite badgering Sasha multiple times in an attempt to get her thoughts on the matter, the only name she offers up is “Dinner”, which makes Martin cry, so that one is out.)

None of the names quite seem to fit the little white puffball that has now taken over the realm of their break room, however—so Tim and Martin find themselves going back to the drawing board. They reluctantly leave the Institute at the end of the day, still without having decided upon a name.

* * *

“JON JUNIOR!” Martin screeches excitedly the next morning as they’re congregating once more in the break room, zombie-like before their tea and mid-morning snack time (primary schools don’t get _all_ the fun, okay).

Jon and Sasha startle, and for once even Tim himself jumps. The rabbit doesn’t seem to care much where he is, nibbling at some hay in his corner litter box.

“I—what?” Jon asks, flabbergasted, although he manages to not drop his toast this time. Character development.

“We should name him Jon Jr! After you!” Martin explains eagerly.

“Absolutely not,” Jon tries to say, but before he can finish, Tim is jumping in.

“ _I_ think that is an _excellent_ idea,” he says, grinning broadly. “Thoughts, Sasha?”

“I’m not emotionally invested in this.” Sasha shrugs, uncaring. “I’m going back to my desk.” She takes her drink and walks out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind her.

“All right, since Sasha doesn’t care, I’ll decide her vote for her,” Tim says, carefully containing his glee. “So that’s three votes for and one against, then. Majority rules.”

“What? No!” John protests, but Tim is too busy looking at the rabbit for confirmation.

“What do _you_ think, little guy?” He walks over, bends down, and lightly boops the rabbit’s nose. “Are you a Jon Jr?”

The rabbit twitches his nose in agreement and poops.

“Well then!” Tim stands, clapping his hands together. “That’s been decided upon.”

No, it _hasn’t_ ,” Jon insists, but Tim cares little for his boss’ objections. He’ll accept his fate as Jon Senior eventually.

* * *

To Tim’s utter surprise and fascination, it happens sooner than later.

Jon, Tim quickly realizes, is a lot like the one dad who says “no dog” and then ends up loving the dog more than he loves his own children.

Despite his initial objections, the daft fool ends up getting caught up in Jon Jr’s big, innocent, rabbit-y gaze (worse than even Martin’s puppy-dog eyes, they conclude gravely), and by the end of the day Friday Jon has announced that he _supposes_ the rabbit can stay with him over weekends and holidays.

“We’re still not keeping him,” Jon reminds them all, even as the rabbit gathered in his arms, giving his nose kisses and knocking his glasses askew, says otherwise.

He gets caught trying to sneak the rabbit into his office on more than one occasion, but Martin raises a fuss about it.

(“He’s all of ours! Jon Jr is our department’s mascot now,” Martin protests defiantly. “You can’t take him away from the rest of us.”

“Yeah,” Tim adds, mostly just to stir up drama—he doesn’t particularly care one way or another. “You can’t just swoop him up and file him away like one of your statements.”

“Just don’t let it get out and chew at my electronics,” Sasha says, distractedly typing something on her phone, probably to that weird new boyfriend.)

To stave off the imminent coup, Jon Jr becomes an officially-declared resident of the break room. He slowly amasses chub around his middle and a cardboard kingdom of bunny toys, houses, blankets, and treats. A rabbit could want for nothing more.

And perhaps—perhaps a human could want for nothing more, too, Tim thinks as he looks down at the figure curled up on the sofa, rabbit nestled against his chest.

He doesn’t love the man, not by a long, long shot—doesn’t even particularly like him half the time—but Tim can’t deny that the scene is adorable. And, regardless of his very vocal protests, Jon Jr may very well be what Jon Sr needs to finally process things and move the hell on with life.

Tim smiles grimly. It’s about damn time.

He quietly closes the door to the room and heads back towards the Archives. He’ll leave Jon to wake himself up.

(And to discover for himself that Jon Jr has peed on his pants leg.)

* * *

Of course, this is the Archive we’re talking about, so naturally the peace is abruptly shattered, and everything goes horribly, horribly wrong.

Tim isn’t entirely certain what happens or why, but all of a sudden Sasha isn’t really Sasha, and he and Jon have gotten backed up and cornered in the tunnels as this not-really-Sasha stalks towards them, predictably with the intent to kill, just like the rest of the spooks they are so lucky to deal with.

Tim and Jon Sr slowly back away until they hit a dead end. Meanwhile, Jon Jr licks at Tim’s arm—he’d been scooped up as they ran into the tunnels, Tim doesn’t entirely know why—and despite the fact that they are most probably about to, y’know, _die_ , the little kisses almost feel strangely reassuring.

The thing-that-is-not-Sasha cackles, her—their?—its?—voice distorted and echoing throughout the tunnels. It stalks towards them.

All of a sudden, Jon Jr wriggles loose and leaps smoothly down onto the ground. He scampers in front of Tim and Jon, heading towards bitch-give-me- _my_ -Sasha-back.

“No! Get back here!” Tim hisses at the rabbit, even though he knows it’s pointless. He hates to admit it, but he’s becoming rather fond of Jon Jr, even if Tim mostly brought him in to piss off and totally not help Jon. Jon—who, speaking of, seems to be equally fond now, judging by the deflating tire of a terrified squeak he makes, and the ~~adorable~~ immature grabby arms he makes at the little bugger.

“Junior,” Jon calls out, sounding like a toddler who’d just been told Santa wasn’t real (he is, they have the statements to prove it, he _is_ ). And Tim wants to laugh, albeit hysterically. The first time he sees his brick wall of a superior cry and it’s over a _rabbit_ , and he’s not even going to have time to gloat over it because they’re about to _die_. “No! You’re going to—”

Jon Jr stops and sits in front of wholly-absolutely-totally- _not_ -Sasha-what-the- _fuck_ , who looks down at him, bemused through its murderous bloodlust.

The rabbit lifts a dainty paw up to his mouth, and suddenly—suddenly it’s twisting and _huge_ , towering up to the ceiling of the tunnel, its skin hairless and tinted a sickly, glowing gray, with five, six, seven...a whole lot more limbs than a _rabbit_ is supposed to have.

The not-rabbit unhinges its now meters-long jaw and snaps up the creature.

Tim and Jon stare at each other, wide-eyed.

There is a loud gulping sound, then a deafening crack, and suddenly there is a very normal white rabbit sitting in front of them again, carefully cleaning one paw with a very normal pink tongue.

“Wh—” Tim chokes on his own words.

The holy-shit-it-really- _is_ -an-eldritch-horror-after-all stretches, yawns, and flops over in a dead sleep.

“...We’re keeping the rabbit,” Jon says faintly.

“I—yeah.” Tim nods, light-headed. “We’re keeping the rabbit.”

* * *

Jon Jr the rabbit-slash-eldritch-abomination gets a very hearty dinner of romaine lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumber peels that night.

(Tune in next time* for the terrible, terrible realization—“Jon Jr is a _girl_?!” (Also _why_ is there another dead body again, dammit, can’t we go _one week_ ))

**Author's Note:**

> * There may or may not actually be a next time. Depends on the reception of this fic, my motivation, and if I have time. (But do let me know if you want to see more of the escapades of Jon Jr and her--yes, *her*, winkwonk--Archivist!)
> 
> Anyways, the thought of Jon and Tim actually fighting and being mad at each other in canon makes me Sad, so I like the idea of their dynamic being a frenemy one—“you can’t insult him only I can insult him” on Tim’s end, and “annoying bastard who annoyingly is growing on me” on Jon’s. Hopefully that got through!
> 
> Come screech at me in the comments or on [Tumblr](https://jowritesthingss.tumblr.com/) or wherever you’d like! Just preferably don’t track me down and screech at me in person, I have social anxiety and I will cry.


End file.
